


Take Off Ur Pants

by mannybothans



Series: Shameless Smut Shorts [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut, Song Inspo, Sub!Dean, Vaginal Fingering, Vampire Hunt, Voyeurism, are what my dreams are made of, dean likes being bossed around, dean's sex noises, dom!reader, friendly wager, garth is the new bobby, lap dance, planet booty - Freeform, seriously it's canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannybothans/pseuds/mannybothans
Summary: You and Dean team up for a vamp nest hunt. Except he wants to do things his own way - until you stand your ground and tell him how it's gonna be.The power of being able to tell the older Winchester what to do definitely goes to your head.





	Take Off Ur Pants

**Author's Note:**

> howdy! i also publish the rare non-smut. you can subscribe and get updates on all works if you're interested!

It was complete happenstance that you found out Dean liked being bossed around. At first, you held back because what if it was some weird Freud Thing; a residual effect of having orders barked at him from his dad from the time he was four? But, like most temptations and low-hanging fruit, you couldn't resist.

\--

Sam never really bosses Dean around unless it's absolutely necessary. And then Dean gives in; not right away, not all the time. You certainly wouldn’t have pinned him as _eager to please_ so much as willing to follow orders.

So, when he makes it abundantly clear that he plans on doing His Own Thing on the vamp hunt Garth had assigned _to you_ , you stand your ground.

“Dean, we are doing this _my way_. End of argument! We roll up at sundown, get in, kill the vamps, and torch the bodies. No flair, no funny remarks, no going off to be a hero. Understood?”

His usual smirk tilts into a half-frown, almost as if he were about to pout but knows better. “Man, you’re bossy. Anyone tell you you’re bossy?”

“Are we understood?” You say again, firmly enunciating the words.

“Jeeze, fine. Yeah, alright! We do it your way.”

“And we take my car.”

“What? No! No way,”

“DEAN. Shut up. We’re taking my car.”

He huffs, but backs down and you can’t help but think: _I’ve done it, I’ve cracked the holy grail of dealing with Dean fucking Winchester’s stubborn ass._ It made you wonder why nobody else had the gall to stand up to him when he was so simple to crack.

The hunt goes exactly as you’d directed. Between the two of you, it takes less than half an hour to behead the entire nest, even when Dean got careless and thought he could take on two vamps at once. Without saying a word, you work together to drag the bodies behind the house and pile them up to burn. You pour the accelerant and Dean throws the matches.

Aside from classic rock softly coming through the car’s speakers, the ride back is quiet.

“So, thanks, for watching my back, back there.” Dean finally says, breaking a long silence between the two of you.

“Mhm. I’d expect the same from anyone else.”

“Right.” Dean nods and turns his gaze to you for a few seconds before staring back at the road.  “You, uh, you have some moves.”

A smirk tugs at your lips as you roll your eyes. He sucked at being smooth, sometimes.

“It’s been awhile, huh?” He adds.

“Yeah. Awhile.”

His fingers drum on his thigh for a moment, filling the quiet between you. “So, me ‘n Sammy usually grab a post-hunt drink at the local watering hole.” You stare ahead, not responding to his statement. It wasn’t an invitation or question, so why would you? “So uh, you wanna maybe get a drink?”

“Maybe. After a shower. I’m pretty tired though,” you muse, trying to hide your sarcastic grin. “I’ve been dealing with a real pain in the ass all day.”

Dean nods slowly. “I probably deserve that.”

You can’t help but let your grin show at that comment.

When you pull into the motel lot, you get out of the car. “Unload the trunk for me.” You toss the car keys to him, which he catches one-handed, and set to do exactly as you said without argument or delay. It’s kinda hot, actually. _This could go so many ways._

You shower quickly, even though the night’s still young. Dean’s watching TV while he waits for you to vacate the bathroom. Once you’re out, he slips in and he doesn’t take long, either. He’s dressed when he emerges in a red and black plaid button-up over a black shirt and clean jeans. He looks really good but you’re curious…

“Eh, lose the plaid,” you say, wondering if he’ll argue.

His jaw works as he contemplates your directive. Finally, he shrugs and pulls it off.

“Better,” you say, making sure to give him a friendly smile. _Did he look… flustered? Just for a second, but yeah, totally._

Dean clears his throat and pretends to busy himself with something in his bag. “You wearin’ that?” He asks, referring to your black tank top and skinny jeans.

“Yup.”

He nods approvingly. “Well, you ready?”

“Go start the car, I’ll be out in a second.”

He hesitates here and you know the gig is up. “Uh, we takin’ yours or?”

Your face almost falters and gives away your surprise before you manage to subdue it. “Yours.”

“Gotcha,” he grins and makes sure he has his keys, phone, and wallet before heading out the door.

Oh _boy_ , this is an interesting social experiment with the potential to go very sideways. You stall for more than a couple minutes and finally head out after convincing yourself you won’t let this new-found power go to your head. Dean just smiles at you when you slide into the passenger side.

 The bar isn’t crowded at all; the two of you grab a table against the far wall so you can see the entire bar, especially the entrance.

“You got first round,” you state, just barely inflecting your voice at the end to sound like it _might_ have meant to be a question.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says and flags down a waitress. He orders two Irish whiskeys, which are promptly delivered. Like you’d clarified before, it had been awhile since you last even saw the guy. It was probably close to ten years – he was brash, cocky, and ready to jump the gun back then. All things a hunter shouldn’t really be if they wanted to live beyond 30. Back then, he was quick to tell you what to do and you didn’t have the patience to argue. You figured if he got himself killed, it was one less asshole to deal with.

“So, I heard you started the apocalypse,” you grin over your whiskey.

Dean rolls his eyes. “And then we stopped it. You’re welcome.”

“Mm. What’s it like, being BFFs with an angel, by the way? Always wondered. Does he just _come_ when you call? Is he feathery? Does he have – you know – _sexual_ needs?”

Another signature eye roll, but at least this time he smiles. “Uh, okay, well, those are loaded questions, but uh, no, he doesn’t always appear when prayed to. He has other things he needs to do.”

“Such as?”

“Uh, uh, Heaven? Things. Heaven things.” He takes a sip and you do the same. “He has wings, yes, but they’re not visible to us unless he wants them to be. And no – no, they’re uh, junkless, down there. So they tell me.”

Your eyes get big at that fact. “Whoa, really? Even the T-2000 had junk. Man, that sucks. So, how do they…?”

Dean just looks at you through his eyelashes and shakes his head. “Me and Cass don’t make a habit of talking about that.”

“ _Cass_? You have nicknames for each other? That’s _adorable_.” _I wonder if his angel knows he likes being told what to do. Hmm, probably. I wonder if they…_ “But he takes a human vessel, right? And that vessel has, y’know, genitalia. Right?”

“Are we just going to talk about angel dick tonight?” He fires back, making you laugh.

“Sorry. No,” you shrug. “I was just curious. Anyway. What do you think of Garth?”

Dean’s eyes narrow as you lean forward on your elbows; your cleavage is mildly distracting. “He’s okay. Gettin’ the hang of it, I think.”

“I think he’s a total sweetheart. Has a big heart, wears it on his sleeve. It’s endearing.”

“You act like you gotta crush on the goof.”

You give Dean a one-shoulder shrug and your bra strap slips down your arm before you hitch it up again. “He asked me out, once.”

“And?”

“And that’s none of your business,” you grin sweetly across the table at him, noting the surprise flash over his face.

“So, you went out with _Garth,_ but turned _me_ down?”

“Please, Dean, that was almost ten years ago. You were a different person then.”

“And if I asked you out, now?” _Ah, there he is._ Trying to be smooth and charming; feeling out the situation without putting it all on the table so his ego doesn’t get bruised.

“Why would you? I have just as much baggage as you; we don’t need to feel like we’re at an airport when we’re together. I prefer to keep things simple. No attachments, blahblahblah.”

“Huh.” His monosyllabic reaction has you glancing up at him as the waitress comes back around. Dean’s face gives nothing away – he still has a pretty perfect poker face. He holds up his glass, you nod, and he orders another round. When they’re set down and your empty glasses cleared, he raises his drink. “To living a simple life.”

“Cheers,” you agree, tapping your glass against his.

 “Feel like a game of pool?” He asks after a couple minutes of you both watching the other bar patrons.

“I’m a little rusty, but,” you trail off, grinning as you stand up and he follows you over to the empty pool table.

Dean goes easy on you – at first. You both have one ball left on the table, plus the eight ball, but he easily sinks his and the eight.

“Two of three?” He raises an eyebrow at your question and you can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Anything at stake?” Yeah, he’s intrigued.

 “Uh. Winner gets a lap dance.”

“Like, a strip-tease?” He asks, his eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline as his eyes try not to focus solely on your chest. He’s horrible at hiding whenever he checks you out, which is often now that you’re circling the pool table and bending over frequently.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” you smirk, as if you have a fighting chance in hell of beating him. The two of you shake on it. Then he wipes the floor with you, sinking four and five shots in a row on his turns. It’s a massacre but you play the last two games in good spirits. The whiskey helps.

“So, uh,” he pauses, scratching the back of his head.

“Let’s pay up and get outta here,” you say, reverting back to giving him orders instead of suggestions. The tension between you two is thick and your mind is rolling over the idea of sleeping with him. You already owe him a lap dance – things were bound to get hot and heavy. You decide to wait and see how the night progresses. Dean eagerly agrees and you both set money down on the table to cover your drinks and a generous tip.

“We’re going to establish rules,” you announce when Dean takes a seat on the hard plastic chair in the middle of the room. “Your hands stay on the sides of your thighs and don’t move.” He nods and places his hands where directed. “No cat-calling, whistling, or cheesy pick-up lines.” Again, he nods. You pace in front of him and his eyes never leave you. “I get to pick the music and you only get one song.”

Dean smiles charmingly up at you. “I won three games; it should be three songs, sweetheart.”

“No talking,” you snap back and he instantly straightens in his chair. “No talking unless spoken to. And no touching. At all. Understood?”

His face falls a little bit but he nods solemnly. “Understood.”

“Great!” You move to get your phone, which has all of your music on it. If it were up to Dean to pick the music, he’d pick a typical stripper anthem, which you have no interest in. At least not for this. The last time you’d given a lap dance – hell, it’d been years – you were seriously drunk. This time, you only have a little bit of liquid courage flowing through you, but you pick a song you love and isn’t hard to get into the groove of. You take a steadying breath and hit play.

Dean sits perfectly still as you strut towards him. You sway your hips to the beat until the first verse and then step up to Dean. His thighs are spread a bit, so you motion for him to close them before you straddle his legs. The song you picked was more of a bump-and-grind than a down-and-dirty, so your eyes close and you let your body just _move_. The lyrics do nothing but worship a woman’s body, so it’s easy to get lost to it while exuding utter sex. One hand slides down the front of your body and your other hand lets down your hair, which you’d tied back during your games of pool, and you toss your head, giving it a flip.

In your mind, Dean’s just another piece of furniture in a room with only you and the music. Except that his eyes are burning holes into you. _Has he always been this attentive?_

At the end of the second verse, you stand up and walk around him. A feather-light, teasing touch across the back of his neck makes him shiver. He has no idea what song you’re dancing to until the lyrics, “so I’m asking you to take off your pants.” You unbutton your jeans and act like you’re going to push them off, but stop. Dean is visibly disappointed in that, which makes you smile. You fall to your knees and put your hands on his thighs, lazily pushing towards his crotch and stop just short, pulling back quickly.

Sitting back on your heels, you mime riding a sex partner as you feel yourself up again. Dean’s eyes go dark and you know he’s thinking about being under you. You stand back up, pleased with his self-control, and the dance continues without a hitch until you once again hook your thumbs in the waistband of your jeans, push them down less than an inch, then stop.

“Come ON!” Dean bursts out, squirming slightly.

You shake your head, shooting him a threatening glare but it’s kind of perfect timing. Making eye contact, you speak along with the song, “If I take somethin’ off, would you take somethin’ off?” His cheeks redden as he watches you pushing your top up over your stomach slowly. Dean gets the hint and he quickly sheds his shirt and you follow, pulling off your tank. Another tease from the lyrics and you sit on his lap, letting your body roll as your hands drag down your chest, over your stomach, and between your thighs. You can feel the heat there, surprising yourself a little bit; apparently you can turn yourself on doing this. You file that thought away for later, still mouthing the words to the song.

“Take off your pants,” you purr along with the last line of the song, your eyes dropping down to his crotch and you flash him a self-satisfied smirk. Boldly, you place a quick peck on his lips. He’s clearly flustered. “Well, that was fun,” you announce as calmly as you can, standing up and moving to turn off your music. When you turn back around, Dean’s still seated and his fists are clenched, resting on his thighs. “You can get up, now,” you chuckle.

He sucks in air through his teeth and flashes a very uncomfortable grin at the floor. “I, uh,” he clears his throat after an embarrassing crack in his voice, “in a minute.” His pecs twitch as he tries to stay motionless.

Snorting, you shake your head, pull your tank top back on, and disappear into the bathroom to brush your teeth. You’re glad you aren’t a guy when you’re aroused. And you’re pleasantly surprised at your self-control at not ripping his clothes off. No matter how hard you’d tried to imagine he was just a chair, the way he watched your every move had your nerves on fire. Yeah, you’re _real_ glad women can hide their arousal easily.

Dean’s pulling on his sweatpants when you emerge. He’s opted to leave his shirt off and you gaze at his back muscles for a moment longer than is necessary.

“All yours, Agent _Bone_ ham,” you snicker after you get your wits back.

“Ha ha ha,” Dean shoots back and sits down on his bed, not-so-discreetly adjusting himself. You bite back a comment about lending a helping hand, all the while imagining wrapping your hands around his cock.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” you taunt as you finally slide your jeans off your hips and wiggle out of them, then into your sweatpants. Reaching under your shirt, you unclasp your bra and then slide it off, out from under your tank, and toss it on your bag.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“What??” You look up and Dean’s yanking a pillow over his lap. Withholding a laugh, you flop onto your own bed and slide under the covers. “No jerking off in bed,” you declare, even though the thought of him pounding his fist makes you bite your lip. “Go do that shit in the bathroom. I don’t wanna listen to you beating your meat.” _Liar, liar, pants on fire_.

Dean’s eyes briefly glance at the bathroom before he angrily turns his back to you. If you could read his mind, you would’ve known _exactly_ how conflicted he felt about you in that moment. Sure, he’s understandably turned on from the lap dance – he expected to be – but then with your demands and general bossiness overall, it’s making his cock _ache_. Your words about keeping things simple echoed in his head, almost drowning out the replays of your lap dance.

Without a word, you reach up to turn off the lamp between your beds, ready for a good few hours of sleep before hitting the road in the morning. You really ought to buy a vibrator.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. Unfortunately for you, you’re a light sleeper. And that means that almost as soon as Dean’s breathing gets heavier, accompanied by the sound of rustling fabric, you’re awake again. “Dude, I swear to god,” you drawl out groggily.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses under his breath. “I thought you were asleep,” he admits. With a muttered curse, he gets up from his bed and hobbles towards the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” You sit up and it takes all of your willpower to not tackle him onto your bed.

“To, to, Jesus Christ, I’m going to get some goddamn relief before I explode!”

“Dean, sit down.” He stops, mid-step, and once again, you can see the wheels turning in his brain. The conflict of attending to his body’s wants versus the need to follow orders is evident. He slowly sits down at the foot of your bed and you move towards him, noticing how utterly _wrecked_ he looks. You’re mean, sure, but this is probably torture for him. “Turn around and let me watch,” you say firmly, hoping he can’t hear the waver in your voice. This has gone further than you’d originally intended, but fuck if you were going to back down, now.

“Shit,” he breathes, running a hand down his face. He pushes himself farther up on your bed, turning his body towards you. His eyes drink you in – bed-tousled hair, eyes fixed firmly on him, and breasts unconfined by a bra and only covered by the thin tank top. “Can you, uh, would you mind,” he stutters, gesturing at your chest. “I mean, if that’s okay.”

You pull your top off, more turned on by this than you anticipated. Your nipples instantly get hard as his gaze falls on your bare breasts and he licks his lips. When your own gaze drops, you watch him palm himself and you are _very_ turned on. “Your turn. Show me,” you say with as much command as you can muster.

 The thing about sweatpants is that they are incredibly versatile. Dean barely has to lift his hips as he uses his thumbs to slide his pants down enough to free his cock. Heat is creeping up your neck, now; how had you never noticed how big he was? Not that you’d been looking, really. Maybe once or twice, just out of curiosity. He strokes himself lightly and you can’t help it, _honestly_ , you have no idea where it comes from, but you breathe, “Good boy.”

The moan that leaves his mouth is _sinful_ and you feel it go straight to your core. You glance up at his face to see his lips part and eyes close. _Oh, shit, he loves this_. He strokes himself at a nice, steady pace, pausing every now and then to swirl his thumb over the tip and collect the leaking pre-cum. You find yourself with a terrible case of dry-mouth at how fucking sexy it is. His eyes flutter open and he stares right at your breasts, tugging his cock with the help of the visual aid. It feels kind of creepy just sitting there, so you start playing with your breasts, squeezing them and pinching your nipples.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes. “So pretty.”

His words have your cunt absolutely throbbing with the need to be filled and you moan softly. “Just like that, Dean. You’re doing such a good job.” It feels weird; you aren’t used to talking much, but this is something you can definitely keep up.

He hums deep in his chest and his hand starts working faster. When his eyes screw shut, you know he isn’t going to stop until he comes.

“Slower,” you say. “Look at me.” Dean huffs but his hand slows and his eyes open, locking onto you. You wriggle out of your own sweatpants and panties, then sit back against the headboard with your legs open.

“Oohh fuck,” Dean grits out and his hand stops moving altogether as his gaze falls to your sex.

“Watch me, Dean,” you order as you slip a hand between your legs. You’re _wet_ , wetter than you can remember being without someone else touching you, first. Watching his face as he pants and gazes at your cunt, you push your middle finger into your wet heat and suppress a moan. The noise your finger makes as you pump it slowly can only be described as obscene. It’s not enough, though; you ache to have him inside of you. You withdraw your finger leisurely and bring it up to your own lips to suck it clean.

The strangled groan that comes from Dean sends a shiver down your spine. In a second, you’re on your hands and knees in front of him, one hand on the back of his neck pulling his face to yours. “Kiss me,” you whisper against his lips and he does; it’s almost chaste until you swipe your tongue over his lips. You want him to taste you. Dean’s mouth opens and his tongue invades yours, swirling around fervently. When you reach up with your other hand, going onto your knees, Dean reaches up with both of his and buries his fingers into your hair just behind your ears. He holds you like that until he’s certain he’s kissed your breath away.

The two of you part reluctantly and his eyes search yours, then drop down your body again as if he can’t quite believe you’re still naked. Your hands fall away from his neck and you move his from your neck to your breasts. “Touch me.”

Still eager to please, Dean cups your breasts and swirls his thumbs over your nipples. He pushes them together and squeezes, getting a feel for the heft of them in his hands. You moan an encouragement and praise for him and he leans forward, glancing up at you for permission. With a subtle nod of your head, you silently tell him to go ahead and use his mouth. His lips close over one nipple and you sigh as his teeth and tongue work it over. He switches sides after a moment; his hands pressing on your mid-back, pulling you closer to him. You allow it and place a knee on either side of his thighs, still sitting up on them so your chest is face-level to him.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sigh as you run a hand through his hair and gently tug. “Such a good boy for me.”

He hums again in response, his mouth still latched to your breast. _Shit,_ you just want to drop onto his cock and ride him furiously. Instead, you slip a hand back between your legs and a finger into your cunt. “’M so fucking wet,” you moan.

Dean ducks his head and gently nips your hip, then lowers his head more and you hear him inhale _deeply_. “Smell so good,” he moans. “Wanna taste you.” You push your slick-coated finger against his lips and he takes it into his mouth, cleaning it off enthusiastically.

“That nice, Dean?”

He nods and you pull your finger from his mouth with a noisy, wet pop. His hands are gently kneading your ass.

“You wanna eat my pussy?”

Dean nods again. “God, yes, please,” he rasps.

 _Holy shit, holy fucking shit, oh my GOD_ , your brain momentarily blanks. He could have thrown you onto your back and had his way with you by now, but he _wants you to tell him what to do and when to do it._ Your body moves back and you sit back against the pillows, spreading your legs for him. Dean moves with you, wedging his broad shoulders between your knees as he ducks his head and cautiously licks through your folds.

“Be a good boy and make me come,” you order, unable to hide how absolutely wrecked you are.

He wastes no time; it’s like you flipped a switch. Instead of the mildly timid, wait-for-your-next-direction guy, when he’s between your legs, he takes charge. Every flick and swipe of his tongue is meant to remind you he knows _exactly how to push your buttons, too_ , and he’s all too happy to do so – when told. Dean doesn’t hold back as he dips his tongue into your cunt again and again, then circles it around your clit until you’re wanting to beg for release.

“Yes! Fuck! Dean! So! Good!” You’re reduced to monosyllabic exclamations as he devours you. “Shit! Gon – AH! Fuck!”

He’s thorough – no part of you goes untouched after he pushes two fingers into your cunt as his tongue lashes hungrily at your clit. Moments later, you’re grabbing his hair and keening as your entire body shakes from the intensity of your orgasm. You’d never tell him, but it’s probably the best orgasm of your life. He keeps going because you didn’t tell him otherwise, yet. “Fuck, Dean, stop,” you pant when you realize he has no intention of doing so without a direct order. His tongue and fingers immediately halt the assault on your pussy as he pulls away and you let go of his hair. He sits back on his heels and already has a hand around his cock again. His gaze is fixed on your pussy and you reach down, spreading yourself open for him. He exhales sharply. “You wanna fuck me, Dean?”

His eyes shoot back up to your face and he nods quickly. “Yeah, f-fuck yeah, I do.”

“Have you been a good boy?”

His face drops a little bit and he struggles with his answer. _Has_ he been a good boy? You sure as fuck think so, but his opinion of himself is another matter. “I, I,”

“You’ve followed directions very well, Dean. Obeyed my every demand. If I let you fuck me, you have to wait to come until I say.”

Dean’s face really twists into agony at that. “I’m not sure, I mean, I don’t think I can last,” he sounds _so_ apologetic and you feel bad for him. His eyes lower and he watches your index finger lazily circling your clit, then he lets out another strangled, wrecked groan. “For fuck’s sake,” he mutters.

You sit up and kiss his mouth and he reciprocates with passion and need. Your tongues push and shove against each other, giving and taking in equal amounts. His hands grasp your waist and pull you onto his lap; his cock drags through your folds and you both moan into each other’s mouths at the delicious feeling of friction. “I can make you feel so good, Dean,” you whisper against his lips. “You just have to trust me.”

His mouth latches onto your neck as he guides your hips to rock back and forth against his erection. The sounds he makes become breathy, needy, but not desperate; never desperate. You think you might come again just from grinding on his lap but you know you want more than that. You want him filling you when you come again.

“Dean, do you trust me?” You pant, exerting as much self-control as you can to not just slam down onto his cock.

“I trust you, Y/N,” he breathes into your neck. He’s leaving marks and you don’t care. The power you’ve held over him this whole time is intoxicating.

“Fuck me, Dean,” you demand, your voice steady and unwavering.

His hands lower to your ass and he grabs you, lifts you just enough, just long enough to make you hold your breath, and then he _slams_ up into your tight, wet, heat. You clutch at his shoulders and throw your head back and scream because he just feels so _fucking good_ filling you up. He moves his hands to your upper back, holding you tightly against him as he relentlessly thrusts into you, the sound of your bodies smacking together and your cries of pleasure the only sounds in the room. He’s panting, groaning, and straining to keep it together as he moans your name into your neck again and again like a prayer.

“Dean, fuck, you feel so good! Make me come again, Dean, and then you can come. I promise.”

A snarling groan escapes his mouth as he lurches up onto his knees and falls forward, forcing you onto your back beneath him. His teeth scrape across your right breast before he sits up again and puts his thumb right on your swollen clit.

“Right – yeah, right fucking there! Don’t stop!”

His thumb rubs your clit fast and hard and his tongue pushes against the back of his teeth as he watches his cock ream in and out of you, coated in your juices. You close your eyes and his flick back and forth from your face to your cunt that he continues to wreck, unable to believe he’s even held out _this_ long.

“So close,” you pant, “don’t stop! GOD!” His thumb picks up speed and right when you open your eyes again, you feel like you’re caught in an undertow of pleasure, dizzy and weightless all at once, at the mercy of your orgasm that’s ripping you apart and stitching you back together simultaneously.

You come so hard, get so tight at the point of no return, that his cock is forced from you. Dean utters something, you’re not sure what, and rams back into your pulsing heat. He quickly loses his rhythm and his jaw unclenches as his lips part and his hands grip your thighs, holding them open as he comes for what seems like ninety full seconds. A series of low grunts accompany his climax as he shudders through it.

You can _feel_ him inside you, throbbing at the release, and it triggers another small orgasm from you. Your hips buck up and he’s sensitive, much too sensitive to handle it, and he shoves your hips back down and then collapses on top of you, catching his breath and coming down from his high.

Numb with bliss, you hum delightedly. A grin pulls at the corners of your mouth and you run a hand through his hair. “Such a good boy for me.”

Dean lifts himself up on his elbows and kisses you deeply. Your lips immediately part to make room for his tongue. _Holy fuck but the guy knows how to use his fucking mouth_. He pulls away slowly and then pulls his hips back, his cock starting to soften as it slips out of you. He grins down at you before he gets up and goes to the bathroom to clean up. You lay there, biting your lip to keep from giggling about the entire situation. Dean Winchester ten years ago was such an abrasive turd and now you had him in the palm of your hand. At least tonight, anyway.

When he emerges, he’s clearly torn about which bed to get into and you suppress a shit-eating grin. “You can bunk with me, Winchester, if you want.” You pat the bed as you get up to use the bathroom in turn. When you emerge from the bathroom, Dean is in your bed and he grins as you slide in next to him. It’s not a cat-that-got-the-cream grin, which mildly surprises you, but rather a genuine smile like he’s happy to share a space with you. _It’s the small things_ , you mentally shrug.

In the morning, you sneak out before he even stirs and leave a short note, which reads: _Keep it simple, XO._


End file.
